


A Bargain of Peace

by Wristic



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Biting, Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Relationship, Rough Kissing, Slavery, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 00:38:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12469592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wristic/pseuds/Wristic
Summary: In a matter of a few years Dublin has been claimed, The King having found his Queen, still on his unholy crusade to take the isles for all they're worth. With Winter on the horizon they settle near the town of Torksey. The villagers not willing to wait out the long months in impending fear, send their most prominent figure, a farmer and father Athelric to negotiate terms. He get's his alliance the people need, but at the cost of his most gentle daughter.(More tags as I go)





	A Bargain of Peace

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't know how this will be received in coming chapters. It's got quite a few characters and story lines to play around in and very little sex to be had. But there is a lot of suffering and drama! Hopefully you enjoy and tell me what ya think!
> 
> BTW: Slanted dialogue is the opposite of Point of Views natural language, unless it's for emphasis

     The noon was cold, so cold so soon for autumn to be reaching, yet as Athelric steered the mule hauling his wagon full of wooden chests, the air nipped far deeper than his joints and sharper edges. God help him he felt the icy wind straight to his soul, wanting to shake him but he refused. There were so many families depending on him. His own, healthy and happy, varying in black haired as him, red as his wife's, his icy blue eyes and Sarthryd’s warm russet, and not ready to be cut down and denied a future. He wanted all those grandkids, he wanted his great-grandkids, he wanted to look into all their eyes and see them empty of horrors. 

So he would have to endure this one. 

Athelric could hear them shifting in the woods long before he came upon the heart of their camp. They stalked in the shadows and brush, spooking Kimmey The Pissy, the dusty mule taking his agitation out on trying to nip his master, Athelric lecturing the ass into calming down. It seemed the closer he got to the rumored camp, the less the rogues bothered to hide themselves, walking in time with him like wolves circling prey. When he didn’t stop to speak to them or ask what they wanted, it seemed to become more clear what his agenda was, a few running up ahead. 

The voices came long before he saw the army itself, sounding so much like a normal village. He heard woman and children even, dogs barking on occasion, clanging of hammers for metal work, men shouting in labor or maybe sparing. However no amount of familiarity could calm him, instead he felt colder, sick and sweaty in its dropping heat. But he wouldn’t show it, he was a bigger man than that. 

When the trees started to push out of his vision, thinning out to see the field where a pinnacle of stone loomed over the town of large thick tents, Athelric paused to take in just how many could kill him, how quickly his small village could be decimated. For a brief moment he lost hope, what could he possibly offer that they couldn’t just take? He would die here today, his wife and children tomorrow, his village burned and forgotten.

Kimmey sliced his fingers with his buck teeth, Athelric hissing loudly as he stepped back, flicking the mule in the nose before looking at the stinging damage. His fingers bled, though not by much, Kimmey bleating as he shook his face, trying to go for another bite. Athelric shoved his lethal mouth away and yanked on the reins, the throbbing pain in his little finger making a decent distraction.

He got a fair amount of attention as he walked on, no one stopping him, only a few warriors standing on the sidelines and keeping the people out of his way. It was remarkable how curious so many were, even children peeking out behind their mother’s skirts, something he could never imagine. Children didn’t belong in a warzone. The beautiful women didn’t belong in a warzone hounded by these beasts of men glaring at him, covered in furs and hair and tattoos. None of those thoughts were voiced of course, the looming Fort starting to shadow him even in the sunless grey sky. Athelric waited patiently at it’s doors, the men opening them, another taking the reins of Kimmey, the poor man, and a few jumping into the back of the wagon lifting the large and thick brown and green weaved blanket.

Leaving it all behind, he marched in, breathing in the musky and burned wood air, keeping his eyes forward as he held a straight back with steps steady, his hands fisting by his sides the only sign he was so tense Athelric wondered if his muscles might break his bones.

There would never be a reason for a throne in a fort before, but there was one now, makeshift and carved to carry a king with a queens beside it. They were empty now, despite people surrounding and dining merrily, undisturbed by his presence. No one stopped their loud talks as he waited at the foot of the steps, they didn’t stop their women’s roaming hands and roaming lips, children seemingly uninvited in this great hall and he was thankful for it. Athelric couldn’t imagine making others so uncomfortable with such wanton displays.

A beautiful young blonde stalked by him, near bumping his shoulder as she passed, drink in hand. Her thin lipped grin looked wicked under her angry pale eyes, climbing the steps and past the seats, heading for a back room. The men from outside filled in from behind him, loudly dropping two chests out of the seven beside him, flipping them open and enrapturing the hall. One was all glittering gold and silver and jewels inside, the other healthy plump crops and bags of grains, vibrant green leaves spilling out its edges as the man above it grabbed at a vine of tomatoes, ripping one free and biting into it, not caring for the juice spilling down his thick brown beard.

A sharp smack on the stone caught everyone’s attention, it focusing sharper with every next step as a young man came from the back rooms, the devious woman under his arm. The man was glaring hard into the ground, brow low and agitated as he forced himself with the cane toward the seat. When the man and woman sat, getting comfortable, Athelric couldn’t help but feel like this was a joke.

What sat before him wasn’t a seasoned warrior with wisdom carved into his every inch, not a stalwart man of honor in his heart, not a King and his bride having earned their titles through the toil and love of their people.

This King and his Queen were practically children, younger than some of his eldest.

Brats judging by the pompous smirk growing on the Kings smooth face, his chest and icy eyes flaring at Athelric’s presence inflating his ego. There was such a cruelty that waved off the dark boy, his dark hair braided back and his skin shaded by the sun as Athelric’s was. Yet the Queen echoed such join in her darkness and beauty, like she belonged to the Unseelie court, broken free from her realm to laugh and destroy the world. Where the village chose Athelric for his solidarity and the respect earned, this young couple only sat in those seats because they proved to be the most savage of them all, further settling in Athelric’s heart it was all these heathens valued.

“You stand before King Ivar, and Queen Thyri,” The Queen announced, sounding angry Athelric would grace her stolen halls. “You think you can offer so few treasures to make us leave?”

Unhinging his jaw, Athelric announced himself, “My name is Athelric, the people of Torksey have sent me here to negotiate a truce with you before your soldiers attacked. I’m only here in a plea for peace.” The boy didn’t change his smooth features, motioning to the chests waiting for the negotiation to begin, or attempted. They both knew damn well he didn’t have to do anything, could just slit his throat and attack anyway. “This is all the gold and silver that could possibly be collected. We’re farmers, our trade is far more simple than that of Kings and Lords. We offer our winter reserves, this fort is yours as you’ve taken it, all we ask is to have our right to live… freely.”

Ivar shifted in his relaxed position, glaring down at his feet before a hard sigh escaped him, Thyri placing a worried hand on his shoulder and Athelric wasn’t sure what he did wrong. “I know you can take all of it if you want,” Those cold eyes came back with an irritated glare and Athelric wasn’t sure if he should keep going. “but we know this land better. Come spring we’ll mill it better, grow it faster… teach the art, permitted we are allowed to live so long.”

The Queen scoffed, sitting back in her seat, sneering in her language. In one more slower sigh, the knot in his brow loosened and King Ivar announced, “You want an alliance.”

Athelric felt cold hearing the words, a heat rising in his pale cheeks from the embarrassment. “Our Kings won’t protect us so far out. What option is there?”

The room was dead silent, only the light crackle of flames in the torches as the Kings’ eyes bore into his, Athelric forcing himself to keep his chin level and to not gulp in the welling sickness of an entire populace hanging in the balance, hanging on his words. Those eyes lifted, scanning the room and growing hard as deduction took place. In the end he confused Althelric by speaking in the Northman language.

Something started up that wasn’t expected, discussion, casual as it went around the room, bouncing from man to woman, the chest of food motioned to and an ear of corn lifted and broken at the middle, shown to the Majesty then the rest. The Queen still seemed bitter, the King chuckling at her fervor as harsh words were clearly thrown about. It very calmly dwindled before Ivar seemed to ask the group on last time, hands and cups raising before he nodded to Athelric.

“It is unanimous then. Winter is encroaching and some plan to stay long after the snow melts.” As much as he didn’t like the sound of that, and no doubt no one in his village would either, the calm tone held so much promise Athelric could weep at the brewing ease. “This does sound like a beneficial relationship for the years to come, however, not a strong one.” The ease was dashed away, his stiffening seeming to amuse the King. “It is very brave of you to come to me like this. Though, it does make me question your honor seeing as it clearly rests with no Kings.”

Confidently Athelric stepped forward. “If there is anything I can do to change that stance, I will.”

Ivar liked that idea, smiling wider, crueler. Running his fingers together in thought, he asked almost quietly. “How many children do you have?”

“Ten.” He tried to answer as neutrally as he could, but his hands were clammy, threatening to shake until they squeezed at everyone’s impressed stares and nods, Kimmey’s bite burning him to a safe rationality and bashfully explaining when even the King and Queen shared an impressed turn of their lips. “The years have been plentiful.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Ivar chuckled, tilting his head. “How many girls?”

“Six.”

“How many of a fresh breeding age?”

The gulp came involuntary, the drop in his stomach making his body tighten to keep down the prickling reflex. _Breeding age_ , Athelric couldn’t stop the disgust nagging at him to run, run away with his daughters and sons, let them keep their breeding habits to themselves and far away from any of these monsters. The Queen was entirely entertained, giggling cruelly, more cruel than the King. God, they were going to hurt them. They were going to steal his girls anyway and they’re going to hurt them. Shifting, Athelric’s head finally bowed. “T-two.”

“And which one of the two would you be willing to give me?”

There was no answer that could come to him, it was impossible to just wrap up one of his daughters and toss her into a fire. They were not things to be sacrificed or bartered, they were his children, his whole reason for being here. The frustration spilled from Athelric in a heated breath, looking around at the men, all too spoiled with anticipation for the answer, some turning lecherous and ripping his heart clean out. “You… You mean to take one of my children?”

“One can always use more slaves.” The Queen sighed, leaning back, seemingly bored with his hesitance. Ivar continued, “And you could always have a reminder what is at stake should you start to feel rebellious.”

“There is nothing we can-”

“I don’t believe that nor will I ever. A daughter, just one, and I am starting to feel that is far more gracious than I should be...” The Queen muttered something making the hall fill with laughter, save for the King himself, giving an irritated glance to her before bitterly glaring at the steps.

Athelric fisted his fingers so hard the bite wound bled fresh, trickling down his knuckle and dropping to the floor. A slave then? Like the ones so quiet but clean, none looked to be bruised, and surely a slave was far too beneath a King to rape? He gulped hard, looking around at the people going a bit rigid, eyeballing him like he might suddenly pull a blade from his boot. Was it wrong that he knew which child would make a better slave? The child submissive enough to not garner any attention? He couldn’t say the words, his eyes burning as he fought with the reality of what he was agreeing to, but he nodded to King Ivar.

A wide smile took the King, “Good. I will come in a few days time. Make sure your people are ready for me, and whatever I ask."

Again Athelric could only nod, the temptation to just take his family and run as soon as he got home aching his bones, buzzing the thought out of his skull.

“You may go.”

Without another word, he turned, the chatter picking up quick and his steps fading in the commotion he’d stirred. Many went rushing to the chests and started pulling out the vegetation, holding the foods to their noses and breathing deep, cracking things open and sharing it among themselves. The chest of gold and jewels however was forgotten.

The second he stepped out from behind the doors the reins of Kimmey were thrust to his chest, the man who’d taken charge of the mule seething with bloodied fingers, huffing at the awnry beast as he walked into the stone fort. It was all Athelric was permitted to leave with, the angry mule and an empty wagon, the walk turning darker and lonelier with every step.

Further to his dismay, no one in his house was asleep, the candles lit and his four still living with him jumping up as his wife leapt into his arms, nearly in tears as she held him and bathed his face in kisses.

“W-what did they say?” Saethryd asked, the room in silence as they waited. “I hardly felt you would come back at all, did they accept?”

He looked around at their fearful faces, reeling back all his words and the heat in his eyes, forcing a smile, “They accepted, their King even called it an alliance.”

The relief came cautiously, Saethryd petting his tense shoulders. “Did they want anything?”

“...not… in particular.” The guilt hit hard as he brushed off her worry. “They’ll come in a few days to pick up their rations.”

Why couldn’t their smiles last forever? He’d prepare her soon, tomorrow, but for now the doomed child should enjoy her big toothy smile, her thick cheeks pushed in joy tomorrow would be better.

Athelric went to bed without eating, unable to sleep, crying in the night when his wife was sound asleep. He couldn’t stop imagining his sweet second youngest daughter in the belly of the beast, the thought of seeing her after time apart to be beaten and crying, begging him to come save her and he _just couldn’t_. A part of him wanted to switch her with some orphan, find a girl on the streets that looked mildly like him and present her instead. But all of Torksey relied on this follow-through, they all put this weight on his shoulders and now out of everyone including him, it would be his little girl to suffer all their punishments.

And he wasn’t even strong enough to tell her, to prepare her. Only God knew what she should be preparing for.

The morning came and it took him awhile to leave the bed, exhausted from all his worry, all the ways he’d explain she was no longer his, that she was no longer her own person at all. It wasn’t until Ealhsige burst in. His fifth eldest, who may have been tall and lanky but with jet black hair framing near golden green eyes, it was a mystery the man hadn’t found a wife and moved on like the others.

“Wilmaer’s boy just came charging down the road, says a group of Northmen are marching in from the forest.”

Athelric sat up from the bed, his own heart stabbing at him, “But they said they’d come in a few days-”

“Well they’re here _now_! Get dressed!”

As Ealhsige turned for the door Athelric stopped him, gently calling him back into the room, “Shut the door boy, there’s something I’ve got to ask of you.”

 

* * *

 

     The element of surprise was more than a strategy, it was just plain fun. How fretful all the little villagers were, trying to hide behind one another yet catch a glimpse, no doubt Athelric not having near enough time to announce his forward arrival to anyone. Running a nail along the serpent carving of his cane, Ivar sat in his chariot, his men chuckling and chatting among themselves as they waited for the acclaimed ambassador, Hvitserk walking in a tight circle to check out the ladies who were just as curious about him. “You really think he will give up one of his children?”

Ivar scoffed, “He’s got ten.” making Hvitserk chuckle.

“Six daughters. Can you imagine that? _Six_ daughters? Must have had hounds at his doorstep every night.”

“Hm, he must thank his God every night you were not born here then.” Ivar mumbled with a smirk, Hvitserk giving a puffed up and proud, “ _Ye~ah_ ” before the attention shifted from their group. The small boy they caught running away when they only just started arriving came huffing back, near collapsing by his assumed father. Down a little ways from the road he came, Athelric, hunched and face etched in guilt, holding by his hand a young woman.

The closer she got the more viking mouths began to drop. She was a short but husky thing, her hips looking like she’d already bared her fair share of children, long warm black hair splaying around her shoulders and down her back. When Athelric had said he’d had plentiful years, indeed this daughter looked like she’d been eating well her whole life, ready to fill the world will children beyond count. Ten, Ivar couldn’t stop from thinking, her mother had birthed ten of her own, how many was this one fated to bring given the chance? The thought stirred the heat into something angry when Hvitserk asked, “You are going to share right?”

He shot a wry smirk at his brother. Looking back at the girl, she held wide brown eyes and bit her plump lips. For a moment Ivar questioned if she was really Athelric’s, but looking hard enough she had her father’s sharp jaw, the shape of his open eyes and thick lashes, and as she tried to give a look to her father, expressively begging for reassurance, Athelric wouldn’t look at her, his knuckles white as he gestured.

“ _This is Aldreda. My daughter_.” He stepped to the side, putting more room for her to walk forward, she didn’t.

Almost like coaxing a shy animal, Ivar motioned and cooed for her, trying to keep his wayward gaze straight to her big near black eyes. Hesitantly, shifting back to look at her shamed father every so often, she came around, Hvitserk not missing his chance to touch her by placing his hands on her pinched waist and helping lift Aldreda up on the chariot.

There wasn’t much room, not with her big curves taking up the open end and Ivar couldn’t stop himself, grabbing onto her large thighs to stabilize her between his wide set legs. She gulped hard, eyes still wanting to beg for her father, her hands having come up, wary they might touch Ivar below her. To get Aldreda to stop dodging his eyes, he snapped at Athelric, “ _Go show the men to your reserves. We will pack up a decent portion now, and come back when winter is here_.”

Athelric didn’t say anything, nodding and turning away from the display before him, Ivar’s hands on his daughter, his eyes and his smile looking hungry, no shame for the crowd. The people tried to whisper as Athelric passed by, wondering what was happening but he didn’t speak, the kind of reaction Ivar hoped the man would keep to.

Aldreda was still following him with her eyes, until Ivar pulled her jaw to look at him. “ _Aldreda, hm_ ?” His hand released her as she nodded, his fingers trailing down her wide chest and making her squirm uncomfortably, glancing back to make sure she wouldn’t fall off the small platform as her foot tapped on the edge. “ _Did your father explain to you who I am and who you will be to me_?”

Again, even as her brow and lip fell so disheartened, utterly silent, she nodded. Ivar ran his hands down her arms, leaning back in his seat as he held onto her dainty warm hands, unable to stop smiling with the prize he didn’t know he’d receive when he asked for a hostage and slave.

Hvitserk brought him out of his lusty thoughts when he forced his way up on the already small platform, a hand tentatively brushing the long black strands from her face and methodically trailing his fingers on her neck as he did so. In Ivar’s hands her grip tightened, holding him as she had nowhere to shift away.

“Brother.” Hvitserk barely acknowledged him, still staring wistfully along her smooth face and worn lips. “This one is mine.”

Hvitserk stilled, glaring down at Ivar in his disappointment. “Come on Ivar, not this again. You tried it with Margrethe, I’ll have her if I want to,” Ivar already ticked his head at the blatant disregard for his King, but then Hvitserk had to mumble under his breath, “It’s not like you can do anything with her anyway.”

“Get off my chariot and my slave before I **gut** you.”

The two glowered at one another, Hvitserk offended Ivar would really threaten such a thing, especially after everything that happened. Ivar didn’t care, unable to relent openly his humiliated frustrations. The silent contest came to it’s end and his brother finally hopped off, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms, rounding out of view.

Satisfied, even as his heart still pounded with a bristled fury, Ivar brushed around the long flat strands around, finding some ease in getting lost in her body. The black dresses swished this way and that, Ivar finding her with tears glittering in her eyes, her cheeks reddening, buxom chest rising and falling with a panic between home and her father.

“ _Aldreda_ .” Her eyes were still dead set on home, glittering brighter as the rim filled and was ready to spill. “ _Aldreda, look at me_.”

Taking an unsteady breath, she did, a trembling starting to take her uncertain hands that curled up to her chest away from his touch. It mattered little, his fingers splaying on her waist and pulling her closer. Ivar opened his face and tried to bare a gentle smile to her. “ _I will not be taking you far. I am sure you know of the stone fort in the woods_?”

Her lips moved and bit, holding back as something clearly flashed in her eyes.

His hands kneaded into her sides, making her shift, wanting to pull away and it sparked his offence. She’d learn soon enough not to fight, but for now, in front of future neighbors, “ _You want to say something? Speak, I am not so mean to deny you a voice._ ”

“ _Father said…_ ” She swayed, looking so small as she gulped, forcing it out, “ _he said you would kill everyone if I didn’t leave with you._ ”

His smile fell, not into anything threatening, but honest as he assured in a whisper, “ _I will_ .” Her _‘oh’_ sounded more like a whimper, Ivar petting at her waist again to calm her. “ _But being with me will not be so bad. All you need to do is behave and do as I say. Not so hard, no_?”

The breath she took was slow and shaking, and instead of answering she looked to the crowd opening for the large wagon, hauled with food spilling out the sides to come through. His men were excited, eating some of it already, practically skipping by the people.

It wasn’t until Athelric and one of the younger warriors glanced at one another and splintered, coming upon Ivar. The hilt of a blade that practically skidded the dirt peeked out of a blanket of cloth, his man Skardi clutching it to his chest like the world was gonna wrestle it from him. Cautiously, a frantic older woman came sneaking behind Athelric.

Eyes dodging anywhere but his quickly growing sullom daughter, he started to explain. “ _That blade is more than just a trinket or a weapon, it’s a family heirloom._ ” He gestured to the woman, begging Ivar with her eyes. “ _It’s been in her family for ages, can she please keep it?_ ”

Ivar looked to his man who whined, “You said we could take what we wanted, and look at this thing! It could cut a bear in half!” The whining only got more pathetic, “I want it!”

Holding back a scoff Ivar held out his hands, Aldreda scooting behind him as the weapon couldn’t even fit in the chariot correctly, the heat of her warming his side, coaxing his head to rest against her chest. Instead he pulled back the cloth.

The steel was so polished it looked white, reflecting the surroundings in a warped mirror. The long hilt was wrapped in red leather, the metal indents expertly carving a wolf out of the pommel, the beast’s fur shining even under the clouded sky. It was impressive, heavy, intimidating, but not a single scratch or wear. Dust was even in the cloth. Shaking his head he handed it to Athelric, “This is for show Skardi, it would probably break before it even pierced hide.”

The woman gave a huge sigh of relief, it echoing silently through the crowd as they questioned one another with curious eyes. Clutching the heavy thing to her chest like a baby, she quickly scurried back to the crowd, Skardi watching her go, heartbroken. “It looks so fearsome though…”

“ _F-Father_ ?” Everyone stilled as Aldreda finally spoke without prompt, clutching her own hands, worry in her soft face. Athelric struggled, tears welling up higher the closer he got to looking her in the eyes. Holding his breath he met her, and Aldreda gave a small grin, “ _I’m going to miss you_.”

It seemed to dawn on the crowd what was happening, some covering their mouths and other fathers turning their heads. Athelric burst a broken chuckle, wiping his eyes as the tears fell,  looking to her with a wide trembling smile. “ _I will miss you too sweet one_.”

They didn’t get to touch one last time, neither willing to reach around Ivar. Athelric slunk away, shuffling from the entourage that was starting it’s way back to the forest. Ivar ran a hand up Aldreda’s side making her shudder, looking into her face trying so hard not to break, eyes looking for a hero to save her. He grinned wolfishly, turning around to grab the reins. The horse began turning, following the wagon of food, Aldreda distracted with hanging onto the rim and not falling anywhere.

It wasn’t until they were near the forest line that the village stirred with noise, a young woman running down the road from Athelric’s home, a tall man with black hair and a bloodied nose, and a large older red and grayed haired woman chasing her. It was hard not to notice how similar to Aldreda the angry woman looked. Young, black haired, brown eyed, though thinner from harder labor. Aldreda sighed, “ _Oh Alfilda…_ ”

The woman shouted slur after slur, lifted in the air by both the man chasing her and Athelric, breaking down as they wrestled her to the ground, shouting out for Aldreda.

“ _Who is that_?” Ivar asked, possessively reaching out to her with one hand still on the reigns.

“ _My sister... we were born together."_ Aldreda shook her head, but watched the painful display as it disappeared around the corner. _"I worry how she will handle this. She was always more brash than I_.”

" _Then you and your father better do all you can to to deter her. I wasn't lying. I will kill her if she causes us problems_ ," Aldreda snapped to face him, terror in her big eyes. Ivar didn't try to appear gentle any longer, giving an insidious smile up at her. " _and I'll kill everyone should she start a rebellion_."

He motioned for her to come closer to him. Hesitant at first, Aldreda bent. Ivar's fingers fell through her hair, making around until they turned into an iron grip, holding her in place as his mouth crashed against hers. She tried pulling and push him away with all her strength, not caring for the pain it was causing. Ivar had a hard time not laughing, loving the idea she'd hurt herself more to defy him. Her plush bottom lip fell between his teeth in all their struggling and in her loud shriek he finally let her go. Aldreda shook the chariot with how hard she threw herself away from him. Her shaking hand came up to her lip, pulling back and looking at the blotches of blood left on the tips of her fingers. Ivar licked his lips, feeling a rush to taste the life of her coating his tongue and move down his throat.

Reaching up past her breast and grabbing a fist full of cloth, he yanked her down level with him, Aldreda whimpering with tears in her eyes. " _Remember what I said? Behave, do as I say, and this will be easier on you_." He smeared the blood of her lip onto his thumb, taking the digit into his mouth where he quickly sucked it clean. " _This is the last time I will say it_."


End file.
